Cross country
by Avid fangirl for life
Summary: Peggy has yet to tell Angie about her move across the country.


One morning you arrive at work rather early, simply because you've grown to enjoy your job despite the chauvinistic pig you call a boss. You're not due in for a full half an hour, you left early to share a cab with Angie so that she would be on time for an audition. For once the office is so empty and so quiet that for a second you can imagine that it won't be full of the raucous laughter of your co-workers in less time than you would like.

You enjoy the quiet while you can, from experience you know that it won't last, not for long enough any way. You spend the time in the quiet thinking about Angie and convincing yourself that of course that's not how you spend your spare time nowadays. You live in peaceful coexistence in one of the Stark mansions on the outskirts of New York. It's a wonderful life but you can't help but wait for the bubble to be burst, because you know that it can't possibly last.

After all, Angie is a young lady beautiful, vivacious and so full of life and charisma that just being in her presence is enough to make you smile. You know that it won't be long before some handsome chap comes along and snaps her up. Although Angie is not one to be possessed or claimed (though you certainly wouldn't mind trying) you think that it will only take the right one before she's married and out of your life for good.

That will be difficult because now that you've acknowledged your slightly more than fledgling feelings for her, they're proving rather insistent and bloody difficult to ignore. Sometimes you can't help but hope, because what do you have if not that? You know that the two of you flirt, and the charged looks that pass between you sometimes are full of insinuation, but you know that nothing can ever come of it. Perhaps if you had lived in another time, but not at the moment. No, some fellow will come along and sweep her off her feet in a whirlwind romance just as she deserves and that will be that. You can want her as much as you like, but you can never have her, not even for a night.

Perhaps that's why, when Thompson asks you to head West, you say yes. Los Angeles sounds very far away, and distance seems like the remedy you need. You may even begin to forget about her as time passes (you know that it's a blatant lie) and she may even fade in brilliance with enough time. You may even be able to quench the spark of desire you feel for her, and if you can't, well you'll be miles away and self restraint will be forced. You won't find yourself in a situation where you're liable to snap and act.

You make arrangements to stay in another one of Howard's houses, but you know that it will feel beyond empty without Angie's laughter and endearing chatter to fill the silence and the spaces in between. You're all but prepared to leave, all but for one small detail. You're yet to tell Angie. You've caused her pain before and you don't want to be the one to do that to her again. You never, not in a million years, pictured that you would be.

One evening, you get home early enough to prepare the two of you dinner. Nothing fancy, just a traditional English cottage pie. It feels very domestic and very much like home when, with a clatter and a shout of "Pegs, I'm home", Angie whisks into the kitchen. For a second before you catch yourself you daydream of a kiss of greeting, just an innocent peck on the cheek, and you can't stop your stomach from aching in disappointment when it doesn't really happen.

She stands leaning against the counter, so relaxed and so casual in her waitressing uniform that you feel the tension lifting from your shoulders. You know that you have to tell her, and soon because you leave in less than a month and you want her to have time to get over her hurt so the two of you can spend as much time together as possible. You're about to blurt out a hurried explanation, the words on the tip of your tongue and dinner be damned when she decides to speak.

"So, English, when were you gonna tell me that we're moving cross country?"

She says it in a conversational way, but you know that there's no arguing with her. Your hands freeze in their methodical chopping of carrots, the knife poised above it. You have to thank god for your very extensive training, because God knows one of you two could have been very seriously injured just then. You clear your throat and continue chopping as though she hadn't ruffled you, because she loves a good reaction (it's the drama queen in her) but you know that she's already seen.

"Tonight." You try to sound authoritative but it comes out as though you're questioning your words, and you know without looking up that she's doing that adorable smirk of hers.

With her hip against the counter and her arms crossed, you don't need to look at her face to know she's amused. "Of course." She drawls in a way only a true New Yorker can. "You left so much time for packing, didn't you?"

You can feel your cheeks flushing, and with her standing so close you know she can see. Biting your lip, you finding yourself muttering "I didn't want to presume" but she interrupts before you can finish.

"You didn't want to presume anything, but you didn't ask what I wanted? Well damn Pegs you made asses outta both of us."

"You have a life here, a family and a job and friends, and I'm sure before long a line of suitors as well."

"Really Pegs? Suitors? There's already been a line and I didn't want any of them."

"What about your family then? And your job and your friends. Darling, you really are the best friend I've ever had but I won't ask you to move across the country away from your life for-"

You're cut off by her lips brushing against yours and every protest and argument you had worked out beforehand rushes from your mind like words on the wind. Before it's even truly begun, she's moving away from you, towards the entrance of the kitchen. She pauses in the entry way and takes the time to look back, smirk firmly in place, and you just know that it's because she wants to see you while you're dumb struck, trying and failing to regain your floundering composure.

As she leaves, as beautiful as always and more collected than ever, she calls over her shoulder "Oh Pegs, by the way, I kinda changed our moving date to next Tuesday."

Oh fuck, it's Friday.


End file.
